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NTAANYMOdDS 



Miscellaneous Poms 

Ralph H -Shawf ,( ,,, 




IN MANY MOODS 



OR 



Miscellaneous Poems 



BY 



RALPH H. S HAW 



^-y 



For the fireside 
Or for the summer shade. 




LOWELL, MASS.: 
Vox PopuLi Press : S. W. Hose & Co. 

1889. 



7& :^^^T 



Copyright, 1889, 
By Ralph H. Shaw. 



All rights reserved. 



TO MY MOTHER, 



HARRIET NOWELL SHAW. 



These light leaves at thy feet I lay, — 

Poor common thoughts on common things." 



^0r)le.r)f^ 



PAGE 

Proem 7 

The Bear-Hunt, ani> other Poems: 

The Bear-Hunt 9 

" Fallen on Sleep " 13 

The Wihte Arrow .16 

Down the Merrimack 18 

Deserted 20 

Nightfall on the Crags 20 

Reminder of Spring 21 

Come Aavay! 22 

An Answer 23 

The Brook to One who would Name it 24 

The Seekers 24 

"Blind Sam" 25 

Mv Infant Boy .26 

Our Baby 2" 

He Climbs my Knee 28 

Innocents 29 

My Work 29 

Camp Ossipee, and other Poems : 

Camp Ossipee 31 

The Quest 37 

The Early Flowers 40 

Glooskap and Summer 41 

Jettie's Wood 43 

Deserted House Revisited 43 

What Sung the Threshold Brook 44 

The Garret 45 

At the " Wayside Inn," Sudbury 46 



CONTENTS. 



April Rain 48 

May 48 

Soon as the Summer Sun 49 

The Coming of the Rain 50 

Enjoyed the More 51 

The Lesson of the Brook 52 

The Mountains and the Seaside 53 

The Spirit, if not the Meaning .54 

Autumn 55 

My Beaker at the Rill 55 

Mosses 57 

The Presence 57 

Worship with Nature 58 

A Day of Quiet 59 

Deus Idem 60 

Wild Flowers of the Holy Land 61 

The Soul's House 62 

Dedication of Children 63 

The Exhortation of Peter the Hermit 65 

" Robin " 68 

IZAAK Walton 69 

" God Bless Him " 70 

My Poet Friend 72 

A Memorial 73 

My Busy Bees 75 

Summer Morning 75 

To A Friend 76 

On Receiving some Cardinal Flowers 77 

Lines, in behalf of the Audubon Society- 78 



''MJA 




'oerr) 



I KNOW that I for years have loved 

Abroad iu Nature's face to look ; 

I kuow that I have oft been moved 

To sympathy with bird and brook ; 
I know that from my hearth-stone I 
Have gone-to view the sunset sky ; 
And climbed the hill, in twilight cold and gray, 
To, at his airy gates, await the rising day. 

I know I have not been as one 

AVho seeth naught the fact behind, — 
To whom the sun is simply sun. 

To whom the wind is simply wind, 
The wood a wood, the hill a hill, — 
Mere growth or mere existence. Still, 
I can not speak whereof my heart hath known : 
I live as one who lives in silence and alone. 



But felt as deep by him who lives 
Without the gift of utterance, 

May be the music Nature gives 
Whereof his life hath cognizance, — 



IN MANY MOODS. 



The solemn undertones of night 
And morning's pgean of delight — 
As e'er by him who sounds the verbal keys 
And gives his every thought their fitting melodies. 

And felt as deep by him may be 
The graces of Arcadian days ; 
The quiet and amenity 

He finds within his greenwood ways ; 
The splendor that around him lies 
Of hill and vale and changing skies ; 
The equal miracle of sun and sod ; 
The stately flow of time, and epic-plan of God. 

And he who loves to tarry by 

The singing of his woodland rills; — 
Who finds a solace in the sky, 

A strength and spirit in the hills ; — 
Who loves the beautiful and good, 
The close-discerning habitude ; 
He makes a poem of his days and weeks. 
And he who feels it all is one with him who speaks. 



W'\)<^ \i>cav=riurjf. Gir)d yirjcp ]|^oerr)s 



1881 — 1885 



THE BEAR-HUNT 

OSSIPEE MOUNTAIN 

T WAS early day ; while uot a sound, 
Not even that that seenis to be 
The inurniur of some far-off sea, 

In upland forests floated round; 

While there was not a zephyr e'en 

To flutter in the aspen seen ; 

While there was not a motion more 
Than flashing of the golden ray 
Rack from each sandy reach that lay 

Along the low lake's silent shore ; 

While gazing from serenest height, 
On lake and island, and, afar, 
On every shield-like mountain scar 

Irradiate in the morning light ; 

On deep-delved gorge and hanging wood 

Amid the breathless quietude, — 

I started at the far-ofl* cry 

Of some one nearly crazed, I thought, 
That rent the silence, heavy-wrought. 

And smote the jutting ledges nigh. 



10 IN MANY MOODS 

Again, again, it echoed round; 
And in hot haste the mountaineers 
Equipped themselves with beechen spears, 
About their waists their girdles bound. 
And, springing as from ambush, they 
Seemed ready for some wild affray. 
" The bear has proved the sly trap's jaws," 
They shouted, starting in the chase 
With eager daring in each face 
Befitting a more worthy cause. 

Enlivened by their spirit, I 

Betook me in the strange pursuit ; 
Left the broad sunshine and the mute 

Charmed eloquence of earth and sky. 

And passed into the scraggy wood 

That deepened into solitude ; 

O'ertaking them where haply they 
Had found his trail by shrub and limb 
Torn by the trap that clung to him 

E'en as the leopard to its prey. 

Through netted copse he tore the drag. 

And leaped in rage and writhed in pain ; 

Now fretted by the chafing chain, 
Now stabbed by the outreaching snag ; 
Now in his fury overthrown, 
Unequal to the snaring stone ; 
Now gaining heart he strove again, 

Plunged with the might of agony, 

Escaped from his captivity. 
And fled into the deeper glen. 

And there we found him — not at bay 
To ward besieging foenien oft". 



THE BEAR-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 11 

The cause of his distress to doff 
Unstruggling, as o'ercome he lay — 
Now pleading with the gentle air 
That stroked his dark and glossy hair ; 
Xow with the brook that murmured by 

And sobbed o'er his relentless chain ; 

And now with space with deeper pain 
And anguish in his upturned eye. 

We found him in his native wild 

Who, looking o'er the deep ravine, 

From beetling rock, so oft had seen 
The gleaming waters, hundred-isled, 
Whereon, uplifted from their shore, 
Looked down the mighty sagamoi'e 
Who holds, in mortmain, lake and wood, 

Whose native eloquence is heard 

In stoi'ied pine and maple stirred 
By airs that love the solitude. 

He cooled his tongue, now fever-dried. 

By draughts from his accustomed brook ; 

Now raised his head with hopeless look, 
And howled till all the slopes replied. 
But, natliless, for his slaughter, they 
Drew round him, where unarmed he lay, 
Who, for my pitj', scoffed at me, 

Who, firm of hand and stout of heart. 

Could not consider him apart 
From all his natural savagery. 

And when the woods were pulseless — not 

The singing of a single bird 

Made the thick leaves to throb — we heard 
A hundred in one sudden shot 



12 IN MANY MOODS 



Fly flashing round the deed to tell 

To rock and cave and upland svv'ell 

Reverberating. Then we stood 
A moment gazing on him there, 
While on his dark and glossy hair 

The sunbeams glimmered through the wood. 

And then with poles and withes we bore 
Him through the flitting lights and shades, 
Through bosky glens and brooky glades, 

To where below us gleamed the shore ; 

From out the close wood's privacy 

To where the open landscape we 

Saw hollowed 'neath the vaulted sky; 
Where, looking down the lake-ward gorge, 
The summer sojourner his lodge 

Had built — -the natives knew not whj'. 

And there the beautiful and fair 

Stood round him ; chid the hunters' glee ; 

And deemed — -in their security — 
'T was houorless to slay the bear. 
Despite their ever-ready tear, 
Went round the ancient wassail-cheer, 
And loudly sung the hunters gay 

Till all the woods sung merrily — 

Belied was every mountain-tree 
That echoed back the joyous lay. 

And while the evening shades imbrowned 

The intervals of land below, 

But ere the golden sunset glow 
Had faded from the summits round. 
He, facing still his native height. 
Borne in the trapper's wagon slight. 



THE BBAB-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 13 



Went down the winding road and passed 
Into the valley. And I found 
The wilderness sustained a wound 

And murmured, for he was the last. 



"FALLEN ON SLEEP" 

PKEIATDE 

I KNOW not why the quiet thought 
Of yonder mountain burial-lot 
So oft is mine, if here or not ; 

Unless it be that to mine eye 

Those graves, above the lake so high, 

Seem lifted closely to the sky, 

Above the overwhelming tide 

Of struggle, reaching far and wide — 

Serenely on the mountain-side. 

Is it because I 'm prone to think 
The few who lie on yonder brink 
Are bound to heaven by stronger link 

Than they who in the church-yard keep, 
As 't were, their kindred bounds in sleep, 
Where break the waves of traffic's deep ? - 

This day, the warmth of Autumn's sky 
Outspread on yonder graves doth lie — 
Love's benediction from on high ; 

No sound doth in the void break 
That arches over hill and lake. 
And silence seems for silence' sake. 



14 IN MANY MOODS 

No longer query why the thought 
Of yonder quiet burial-lot 
So oft is mine, if here or not ; 

For ah 1 a crude desire in me 
Has shaped itself, and I would be 
Left on that same declivity. 

When it shall seem that to mine eye 
Death-stricken, lake and hill and sky 
Have hastened, like a vision, by. 



• An old and feeble man it was* 

Who tottered from his door, 
Unheeded, to the grave of her 

He longed to see once more ; 
Along a pathway to a ridge 

Of mild declivity. 
To where the landscape did supply 

The voice of elegy. 

He had been dreaming long of her, 

And back to him had come 
Love's winged joys, as oft in June 

The swallows to his home ; 
Had risen from his dream and found 

The present mystery — 
For not about her cheery task, 

But gone away was she. 

* These lines were suggested by the actual occurrence of 
'What they narrate. 



THE BEAR-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 15 

And when he whither asked, a thought 

Rolled on his heart a stone ; 
He bore its burden to her grave 

And sat him down alone. 
The upland slopes of Ossipee 

Displayed their leafy chintz ; 
In marges of the lake below 

Were glassed the autumn tints. 

He did bethink him of the day 

When, from his garden chore. 
She called him to her side to look 

The autumn landscape o'er; 
To see how blushed the maple wood; 

To see how smooth the lake — 
The mirror of the mountains — lay : 

He viewed them for her sake. 

And now he viewed them once again. 

But sad they all appeared — 
The maple wood, the lake below. 

The mountains round it reared. 
In vain to him the autumn fires. 

The splendors of tlie day; 
For coldly over all he saw, 

A mournful shadow lay. 

He heard the drowsy insect voice 

Amid the sunny grass ; 
He saw the trailing shadow slow 

Along the mountain pass, 
The farther summits fade away, 

In dimmer distance cast ; 
And soon from all the landscape round 

To quiet dreams he passed. 



16 IN MANY MOODS 



So near his sleep to death, methought 
'Twere better far to die, — 

To wake was but to look around. 
To look around, and sigh. 



THE WHITE ARROW* 

By many a rill that sings a song 
In moods of quiet the whole day long, 
By many a pool in which is seen 
Through parting branches the sky serene, 
Adown a path by the water-side, 
Through rays of sunshine, leaf -multiplied, 
Through vistas of peace, at peace with all, 
I reach the brink of the chasm fall 
Where, ghastly as death, an arrow 's seen 
Aimed downward across the wild ravine. 

Though unprepared by aught I have passed 

To meet this thrilling object at last, 

I do not need the aid of a book 

Nor the meaning in the guider's look. 

I see from it in the forest here 

The chaser's foot to the flyer's near, 

The wild confusion of the pursued 

Emerging here from the tangled wood, 

* There is a tradition that Lieutenant Chamberlain (who was 
afterwards engaged in the great Pequawket fight) was once 
hotly pursued bj^ the Indians along the base of this [Ossipee] 
mountain. When they were close upon him, he reached the 
chasm near the Ossipee Falls, eighteen feet wide, and cleared 
it in a single leap, thus securing his escape. The foremost of 
his pursuers essayed the same feat, but failed to reach the 
opposite side, fell, and was dashed to pieces on the rocks be- 
low. — Osgood's White Mountains. 



THB BBAB-HUNT, AND OTHER P0KM8 17 



The nervous survey in which was seen 

How one, God willing, might leap the ravine. 

One hardy Chamberlain, for the cause 

Of home, engaged in the Indian wars ; 

And once, when unarmed, had but to put 

Beside the Indian's his agile foot. 

Through the mountain wood, o'er rock and root, 

He fled, and the savage gave pursuit. 

IVlore near and near — it was all he heard — 

The rustle of leaves the savage stirred ; 

More near and near, o'er his shoulder seen. 

The serpent glance of the hatchet keen. 

How whirled the forest ! — the rock and tree 

Blent like creations of fantasy. 

Yet wildly hoping some mossed tree, tall 

And massy, might on the savage fall 

And dash on the rocks the head so full 

Of purpose so dark and terrible ; 

Or, writhing among the leaves, some root 

Ensnare and cripple the cunning foot. 

He came to where the white arrow 's seen 

Aimed downward across the wild ravine. 

He cast an instant his eye around, 
Rushed back, and i-an, and cleared in a bo'uid 
The wide ravine and the dashing tide. 
And clonib the rocks on the farther side 
In time to see his pursuer fall 
In the chasm's jaws and, over all. 
The steel-bright flash of the tomahawk 
That dulled its edge on the chasm rock. 
He paused, half-doubting if he had seen; 
But there was a form in the deep ravine. 



18 IN MANY MOODS 



How gaily over the ledge to-day 

The spray-brook falls in the summer ray ! — 

The wild bird sings, and the leaves are mute 

To tell us aught of flight or pursuit ; 

While through the vista the pine-slopes make 

We see the smile of the sunlit lake. 

There's nothing seen in all nature here 

Suggestive of struggle, hate, or fear — 

But, like the Indian's spectre, is seen 

The white arrow fast hj the wild ravine. 



DOWN THE MERRIMACK 

TO E. S. V. 

How sweet to us who long had been 
Immured the noisy workshop in, 
Through tedious days of haze and heat, 
Smote by the hot blast from the street — 
How sweet to us the open sky, 
The freeborn zephyr wafting by. 
The peace and cool so long denied — 
The blessing of the country-side ! 

As flies the bird through the willing door 

When soft skies smile his woodlands o'er, 

To feel, in swift release of wing, 

The restoration of his spring ; 

We left the city's toiling air. 

The viewless shuttles weaving care, 

The fret and fever at our back. 

And drifted down the Merrimack. 



THE BEAE-HUNT, AND OTHEE POEMS 19 



How sweet to us each air that blew 
The river's verdant vista through, 
Or liglited ou the isles of balm 
From the cool azure's sea of calm 1 
As grateful as the rain that lays 
The dust in summer's heated ways, 
Or as the lingering brook that yields 
New life to him who mows the fields. 

How sweet to us the quietude 
Of hillside field and upland wood, — 
Of steepled thorp and meadow wide, 
Of all the airy country-side, — 
Which, restful to our wearied eyes, 
Made earth the pillow of its skies ! — 
And — thanks to toil ! — we felt it best 
For having- earned a day of rest. 



20 IN MANY I'^ vODS 



DESERTED 

Kind voices, that have made me still, 

Seem everywhere about ; 
And forms, across the foot-worn sill, 

Seem passing in and out. 

Is it the huzz of lonely bee, 
Or drone of spinning-wheel, 

That, softly murmuring, comes to me?- 
The sound doth not reveal. 

Is it the wind from yonder wheat 
That swings the creaking door? 

I seem to hear approaching feet 
That lightly press the floor. 

Alas ! I am a stranger here ; 

No errand here have I. 
Deserted ! Yet how real, how near. 

The tenants pass me by ! 



NIGHTFALL ON THE CRAGS 

This is the hour for wings. We climb 
The sunset hillside, and behold. 
Above the shadowy lake and wold. 

Where spacious quiet grows sublime, 
What summits wear the crowns of gold ; 

Where colored by the irised skies 
Wafts now, with motions soft and light, 
A fleeting air 'twixt day and night. 

A sunset birth, it lives and dies 
A floating bloom about the height. 



THE BEAR-HUNT, AND. OTHER POEMS 21 

Now to his cloud-bed sinks the sun, 
From mountain-tops his glance doth wean; 
And blending in the deep serene 

That liangs above us, into one. 
The fading hues of heaven are seen. 

And winding out of sunken dells 

A lightly-shaken music comes. 

Through dusky air the night-hawk hums. 
And now are hushed the muffled bells, 

And shepherd-shadows fold tlie homes. 

And from the lake the chilly breeze 

Takes hither, as in dreams, its flight. 
Yet staj' we on tliis rocky heiglit. 
Our pillow is our boundaries — 
The calm horizons of the night. 



REMINDER OF SPRING 

My heart is grateful for this day 
In autumn, when though brown and bare 
The woodlands feel as soft an air 
As sometimes from the lips of ^lay 
Breathes on the brow of Nature gray 
With the last locks of hoary hair; 
For have we now a sky as fair 
As that wliich to the woodland way 
Shall call us when at flrst we ope 

To sprouting spring our windows wide. 
And give the pent-up heliotrope 

A breath from heaven, long denied, 
And to the caged bird, silent long. 
The impulse for its gladdest song. 



22 IN ]VrANY MOODS 



COME AWAY 

I 

Blithely singing, lightly winging , 
Come the late forerunners bringing, 

Through the portals of the day, 
Over all the numb and nude land. 
Over all the rough and rude land. 

Tidings of the flowery May. 
Come away I come away ! 
To the field or to the woodland — 

Who can in his ceiled room stay? 

II 

ISTearer, nearer, sweeter, clearer, 
Come the soft airs that endear her, 

Through the portals of the day ; 
Come like tones of gladness, stealing 
From me each remembered feeling 

Of the winter cold and gray. 

Come away ! come away ! 

From beneath the clouded ceiling. 

Come, and welcome in the May 1 



Come away ! No longer tarry ! — 
Earth with gentle skies to marry, 

Through the portals of the day. 
She has come, and every singer, 
Every woodland-echo ringer. 

Seems for her dear sake to say : 
" Come away ! come away ! 
Ye who in the city linger — 

Fairer in the fields is May." 



THE HEAR-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 23 



AN ANSWER 

How pleasant are the intervals 
When twofold seems my life to me ! 
Immured within the city walls, 
The freedom of the hills I see. 
Then do I hear the pasture-hell, 
The wild brook laughing in its dell. 
Whatever gentle music meets 
The ear among the summer hills, 
And share, albeit in these streets, 
The quiet which their spaces fills. 

What though the hawker's cry of wares 
Comes to me from the thoroughfares ? 
I hear, as in its interludes. 
The caw o'er northern solitudes. 
What though the air around me booms ; 
What though the clanging forge is near ; 
What though above me moan the looms. 
The music of the hills I hear; 
Above a thousand shuttles' whir 
The breezy pine-woods' placid stir. 

And when there comes to me a day 

Impatient to be hence away, 

I urge : Whatever quiet gives 

Of rest to body, peace to mind. 

He, who the longest fx-om it lives. 

Doth in it greatest blessing find. 

'T is mostly in its absence dull 

We learn to love the beautiful ; 

And by the verj'^ dissonance that fills 

The lowland air, to feel the concord of the hills. 



24 IN MANY MOODS 



THE BROOK TO ONE WHO WOULD NAME IT 

(Re-written in 1889.) 

You have found a name for my hills that rise 

Where I love evermore to be, 
And a name have found for my lake that lies 

In the valley that waits for me. 

But to find a name for myself you fail, 
In my woods where I lightly laugh. 

Where I wear the moon like a silver veil 
And the sun like a golden scarf. 

For in me by day and by night you find 
What my lake and my hills have not — 

An endearing grace, and it fills your mind 
With a sweet and a tender thought. 

Seek a name no more, and the name I bear 
You will hear at my side some day ; 

It will come as light as a woodland air. 
And as light it will pass away. 



SEEKERS 



You come for game among these hills, 

Where I have come for rest ; 
1 do not know what woods and rills 

Will serve your purpose best. 
The beauty of these hills to me 

Is more than rod and gun ; 
With folded hands, to sit and see 

It changing with the sun. 



THE BEAR-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 25 

Relieved from all my cares once more, 

Enough foi- nie to know 
What cloud-drawn shadows darken o'er 

The sunny isles below ; 
What distant hills are hung with haze, 

And waters level lie ; 
How earth, to charm the summer days. 

Conspires with the sky. 

I sought the quiet, mountain-born, 

Which all around me lies; 
Be mine the leafy stir of morn, 

The hush of sunset skies. 
I do not know among these hills. 

Where I have come for rest, 
Wliat green-leafed woods and singing rills 

Will serve your jjurpose best. 



"BLIND SAM" 

OSSIPEE JIOUNTAIN 

How blithe thou art ! I tarry near 
Thy solitary song to hear, 

Though it rebukes me now. 
Thou seest how to cheerly live, 
The cloud a sunny rim to give — 

I am more blind than thou. 

I see the hues the woodlands wear, 
I feel nor want, nor loss, nor bear 

A burden on my way. 
Yet sad I am ; I know not why — 
There "s not a cloud in all the sky 

To fret this perfect day. 



26 IN MANY MOODS 

Through open door and shattered pane 
Of cottage worn by wind and rain, 

I hear thy songful glee. 
Nor mountain run, nor wilding bird, 
To sing a freer song is heard 

Than that which comes from thee. 

Around thy toppling cottage nod 
The tassels of the golden-rod ; 

And on the slopes I see. 
Where hang the maples like a fringe 
To belts of pine, September tinge 

The skirts of Ossipee. 

Yet not for thee, blithe mountaineer, 
The trappings of the various year 

Thy native mountains dight. 
Winds that have cleared the clouded skies 
Have never cleared thy clouded eyes, 

No sun restored their sight. 

Sing on ! I 'd be as blithe 's thou art ; — 
As is the will so is the heart, 

So I will blithesome be. 
If prone again to give me care, 
May I recall thy lightsome air, 

Thy loss and poverty. 



MY INFANT BOY 

When in my arms I clasp my infant boy 
And feel his own about my neck entwined, 

And see him, all forgetful of his toy. 
Fall into slumber on my breast reclined, — 



THE BEAK-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 27 

Then am I touched by his love confident, 

Then do I ask myself if I am strong. 
Alas ! if love should lead him innocent 

To trace my footsteps, haply, into wrong. 
Vouchsafe, O God I that he, my early hope, 

Shall be my life's restraint ; that my desires 
Shall, whatsoe'er their nature or their scope. 

Be governed by the thought of him, as tires 
Are by fit draught controlled. I would not preach ; 
But I would have these words beyond me reach. 



OUR BABY 



We do not think of him as dead, 
But gone away to come again. 
As for a while, beyond our ken. 
By some attraction led. 

We do remember watching him 
With anxious care through one long night, 
And seeing in the morning light 
Our hope grow dull and dim ; 

We do remember seeing here 
Sad people, after he had gone, 
And hearing, in a soft, low tone : 
" Have faith ; for God is near " ; 

We do remember pausing where 
The tufted earth was turned aside, 
And back returning to the wide 
And noisy thoroughfare ; 



28 IN MANY MOODS 



Yet do not think of him as dead, 
But gone away to come again, 
As for a while beyond our ken, 
By some attraction led. 



HE CLIMBS MY KNEE 

I CAN not see him anywhere, 
Nor hear his childish singing, 

His little prattle here and there, 
His silver toy-bell ringing. 

Oh, wherefore comes he not to me, 

As he was wont, to climb my knee? 

Still sings the bird he bade me hear 

With his uplifted finger. 
And in our neighbor's garden near 

The flowers he saw still linger ; 
Oh, wherefore comes he not to me 
To point at them and climb my knee? 

His blocks lie scattered hereabout. 
His horses wait his riding — 

Where is he? — At my back, or out 
Beneath my window hiding? 

Oh, wherefore comes he not to me. 

As he was wont, to climb my knee? 

Ah ! to my higher self he comes 
In moments that are golden ; 

For sunshine, offered to all homes, 
I am to God beholden ; 

My smiling angel-boy I see. 

And, soft and light, he climbs my knee. 



THE BEAR-HUNT, AND OTHER POEMS 29 



INNOCENTS 

A SIMPLE sight ; and yet it shall not fade 
Aw;iy from me. It seemed to me as though 
It were of love assurance, and I owe 
To it a strength which reason never made, 
Nor gospel ever gave. I had delayed 
My visit to a little grave, for snow 
To melt from it and then for airs to blow 
Away from it the leaves that had decayed. 
Until I felt a little loth to look 

Upon the grave again ; but, ah I to-day — 
Ne'er seen in all the burial-lot before — 
The fairest page of God's unwritten book, 
Sweet innocents, upon its bosom lay: 
Such as a year ago the child's hand bore. 



MY WOHK 



I WROUGHT it in a quiet hour, 

I wrought it out of love. 
The impulse came from leaf and flower, 

From the still depths above ; 

Or from the cool, sequestered haunts 
Where fall the singing rills ; 

Or where the airy sunshine slants 
Among the open hills. 

The critic-eye must seek in vain 
The full and rounded line — 

The graces which I could not gain, 
Ah ! never may be miiie. 



30 



IN MANY MOODS 



I only hope the poet-heart 
That reads my simple lay, 

Will strengthen every feeble part, 
Add what I could not say. 



«^- 







C((2irr)p b^ssipee, Grr)el (s^fr)ep |feOerT)S 



1886 — 1889 



CAMP OSSIPEE 

TO MY COMPANION, O. W. R. 

'T WAS in the mellow light that falls 
At sunset on the nioiiutain-walls ; 
"When far and near at times is heard 
The warble of the sunset bird, 
And in the hush that deepens round 
The very soul of peace is found ; * 
Where far below us ^lelvin Bay 
Couching itself for slumber lay, 
And over us some pine-boughs bent, — 
That, travel-worn, we pitched our tent. 
Ah ! 't was a restful sight to see 
The wooded heights of Ossipee 
Rise round us in eternal green. 
That softer seemed at sunset seen ; 
For we had come that self-same day 
O'er glistening miles of iron way. 
And, borne the dust of many a road 
That in the sun of August glowed. 
There in that peacef\il hour of rest, 
Which rock and tree alike confessed, 



32 IN MANY MOODS 



The pine-boughs seemed above our head 
In blessing and in healing spread, 
Making us feel — who felt indeed — 
That Nature understood our need. 

At length the moon rose ; far and near 
We saw its tender light appear ; 
Now flaring from the mountain lines, 
Now falling through their fringing pines,, 
And now expanding far and wide — 
A whelming yet a gentle tide. 
Then like a brooch of silver lay,, 
In its dim setting, Melvin Bay, 
Seeming, in our ecstatic sight,' 
Upon the very breast of Night. 
At length all things about us slept,. 
Save that the owl his vigils kept. 
We felt the mighty forest breathe 
The light touch of the dew beneath, 
And mfbded that if we would rise 
What time the morning tints the skies. 
We should unto our couch repair, 
We turned our wandering steps to where 
Our tent looked like a mountain-mist, 
White-sheeted, by the moonlight kissed. 

Nest morning — when the sun had shone 
An hour or so our landscape on ! — 
We saw, forth-looking from our tent^ 
With feelings of some wonderment. 
To whom the splendid sunset hour 
Had something had of glamour power, 
How far our credulous eyes had been 
Deceived the shaping moonlight in. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHKR POEMS 33 



Still for the liglit that phowecl the fact, 

Our view to charm us nothing lacked. 

Too far away for us to see 

One sign of its activity, 

The little thorp below us lay 

Keposeful by its sunlit bay 

As if alike were night and day. 

We only saw its houses small 

And steeple overlooking all, 

And vanes that ever and anon 

Focused the light that on them shone. 

We broke our fast betimes, and took 
Our fishing-tackle to the brook, 
With good old Izaak Walton's book — 
Not that we thought our luck would be 
The better for its company. 
Too obsolete in many ways 
To guide a fisher nowadays, 
But leading still to that calm mood 
Wherein to fish is meet and good. 
My friend — and no one more than he 
Enjoys its quaint simplicity — 
Had read it often, looking down 
Upon a noisy thoroughfare 
From his high window-seat in town. 
Yet always seeming otherwhei-e — 
Some mountain pool pine-shadowed by, 
Or meadow brook with breast of sky — 
Receiving from it what is best 
Within its gift, relief and rest. 

Ah ! you should have that wild brook traced 
With so much varied beauty graced ; 



34 IN MANY MOODS 

So rugged yet so fair, so wild 
And j'et so lovely — Nature's child : 
A child whose days are full of song, 
Whose feet disport its way along. 
Who unto all its spii-it gives. 
And loved of all who see it, lives. 
And so at first it seemed to be 
A thing of life, to hear and see ; 
To hear itself the song it sung. 
To see the woods it moved among, 
To have a subtler sense than we 
Of all that we could hear and see. 
But after all it was a brook. 
And into it we cast our hook. 



We fished from pool to pool, and thought 
Of what our honest master taught, — 
That much of hope and patience need 
All fishers if they would succeed. 
But, mark you ! not without reward 
We bore our fishing-line and rod, 
Who out of hope and patience caught 
More fish indeed than we had sought. 
Ah ! even with us seemed to be 
That man of " heavenly memory," 
Who " with his Bryan and a book, 
Loitered long days near Shawford-brook,"" 
In pleasant discourse, wherein we 
His singleness of heart could see, 
Inviting us to love the good, 
The meek and quiet habitude, 
To seek not more than competence, 
And thank God for His providence. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHEB POEMS 35 



Our fishing done, our sweet meal o'er, 
We sat beside our tent's free door. 
The hour was liigh noon, and we heard 
But sound of leaf and song of bird ; 
No clanging of a factory-bell 
The stopping of the wiieels to tell. 
No footsteps of a swarming throng 
A hard and dusty walk along. 
The farther mountains, wrapped in haze. 
Seemed sleeping through the August days, 
And couched in eastern luxury 
The lake's fair islands seemed to be. 
We watched, o'er land and wave below. 
The cloud-cast shadows come and go. 
Until the very landscape seemed 
Like something indistinctly dreamed. 
And lower as if farther heard 
Became the sound of leaf and bird ; 
For surely had a slumberous power 
The stillness of that midday hour. 

W^hen long the lights and shadows grew 
That slanted the cool forest through. 
And from us with the westering day 
Our lighter feelings passed away. 
We sought, as did the hour become. 
The threshold of a lonely home, — 
A house that sadly seemed to be 
Devoted to its memory. 
As 't were in weeded widowhood. 
How dark amid its field it stood! 
Far up upon the mountain-side, 
O'erlooking lake and valley wide. 
Where hardly ever came a sound 



36 IN MANY MOODS 

Save from the sombering pines around. 
Longer the lights and shadows grew, 
Cooler the airs as touched with dew, 
While sat we in that lonely door. 
Recalling what could be no more, — 
The tender joys with childhood flown, 
The hopes by earliest manhood known, 
The long, wide way, with flowers fair. 
That ended in the path of care. 
There came to us the thought that we, 
As we had been, no more could be ; 
As nevermore on us could lie 
The sunlight of our morning sky, 
So nevermore our lives could feel 
Their early freedom, early weal. 
Much that that house knew, sad and lone, 
Was by our very bosoms known. 
And with a sigh of sympathy, 
We left it to its memory. 

Soon in the vale below we heard 
The singing of the sunset bird, 
That in the gathering dusk was glad — 
For him the hour no sadness had — 
And casting from our minds the weight 
Of thoughts we had indulged so late. 
We gained our tent, wherein we sate 
In quiet converse till the sound 
That reached us from the lapsing rills 
And from the waving woods around. 
Lulled us to sleep among the hills. 

And so we lived from day to day, 
" Exempt from public haunt " and way, 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 37 

In lightsome and in pensive thought, 
In varying moods by Nature wrought; 
"\^^lO learned that she her treasures gives 
To him who with her closely lives, 
Who comes, a quiet worshipper. 
And dares to make his home with her. 



THE QUEST 

A BALLAD OF THE HILLS. 

She asked if I would also go. 
Why did I make my answer, No? — 

The sun its western path had found 
And cast its long, slant rays around. 

When I could wait for her no more 
And sought her from my cabin-door. 

The hill was high, the wood was wild. 
And she, a woman, seemed a child. 

Had she grown faint, who was not strong? — 
I called her name, and listened long. 

No answer came from all the wood. 
But deeper seemed the quietude. 

I only heard the birds that sung 

Her praise who moved their haunts among ; — 

Her praise who was my winsome bride. 
More dear than all the world beside ; — 

Her praise who was so sweet and fair, 
Whose step was light as summer air, 



38 IN MANY MOODS 



Whose looks were all so kind that none 
Could see them and not soon be won. 

But where was she ? The lake below 
Had now lost all its sunset glow ; 

The far-off hills were blue and cold ; — 
The birds but of her grace had told. 

I wondered : had she failed to keep 
Her footing at the dizzy steep ? 

I called, I loudly called, again. 
And as before I called in vain. 

I sought her here, I sought her there ; 
I called, I called her, everywhere ; 

Up hill and down I went, and found 
ISTo clue to her, of sight or sound. 

I listened in the pine-wood high — 
I only heard its needles sigh ; 

I listened at the valley fall — 
I only heard its waters call. 

I sought till I could seek no more. 
Till dark with night was all before. 

When magnified by weary eyes, 
I saw the hill above me rise. 

What could I do? Ah, who could say? 
The nearest home was far away. 

I could not pause, I could not wait. 
What was her peril ? What her fate ? 



CAMP 08SIPEB, AND OTHER POEMS 39 



I thought — the thought was as a word 
From lips unseen but near me heard — 

That she might gain her long-lost way 
If from the cabin reached a ray. 

Then painfully I climbed the hill, 
That rose so dark, so wild, and still, 

And climbing, called as oft before, 
Until I reached the cabin-door ; 

"\Mien lo, before me waiting stood 
The fairest spirit of the wood ; — 

I kissed her o'er and o'er, and lo ! 
^V^Ien she would have me now, I go. 



40 llf MANY MOODS 



THE EARLY FLOWERS 

The flowers began to come up and talk to Mm. 

— Algonquin Legend. 

Again these woodland ways among, 
That good old legend comes to me, 
Of how to the divinity 
Of whom the Indian bard has sung. 
The early flowers rose and talked 
Along the way he walked. 

They talk — I like the word — tome; 
They talk of Summer, and they say 
That she will soon be up this way, 
And soon, o'erlooking all I see, 

Yon mountains blanketed in haze 
Seem chiefs of other days ; 

That soon on far more quiet meres 
The birch will in reflection lie, 
And seem, beneath my musing eye. 
The birch-canoe of other years, 
Moored in a day of azure calm, 
By woods that breathe of balm. 

Sweet Indian flowers, hinting well 
The i)ictures of serener days, 
Among these yet unleafy ways ! 
They almost make their words a spell 
To bring the Summer here before 
The chilly spring is o'er. 



CAMP OS8IPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 41 



GLOOSKAP AND SUMMER 

AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND. 

m 

[Mr. Leland, in commenting upon this legend, says : " It ap- 
pears to be the completei- form ot the beautiful allegory of 
Winter and Spring given in the Iliiiwatha Legrends as Peboan 
and Secgwum. The struggle between Spring and Winter, 
Summer and Winter, or Heat and Cold, represented as incar- 
nate human or mythic beings, forms the subject of several 
Indian legends."] 

Worshipped by the Wabanaki, 

Or the Children of the Light, 
Glooskap, or the god of nature, 

Sought the northland cold and white ; 
And within a wigwatu sitting, 

Deep in silence and alone, 
Found a giant, a great giant, 

By the name of Winter known ; 
And he listened in the wigwam 

To the tales the giant told, 
Till his head was bowed in slumber, 

Till he yielded to the cold. 
What he saw in sleeping visions. 

None of all the wise men say ; — 
Saw he Summer vanquish Winter? 

Make the northland light and gay? 

When he woke, he travelled southward — 

When with every footstep grew 
AVinds more soft and skies more tender — 

Till the flowers round him blew, 
Till, amid the leafy forest. 

In the sunny south, he found 
Summer with her fairies dancing 

Like the falling waters round. 



42 IN MANY MOODS 



Straight he caught he ; but to keep her 

In his bosom from her folk, 
By a wile he must deceive them : 

Fair he made the words he spoke ; 
And he spoke them in retreating, 

Backward going, o'er and o'er — 
Ah ! her folk, he had escaped them 

When they heard his words no more. 

Then again he sought the northland 

Where old Winter still abode ; 
Now with Summer in his bosom. 

With her spii-it overflowed ; 
And was once again made welcome 

To the wigwam cold and bare ; 
For the giant thought he surely 

Would again be sleep-bound there. 
But he now had sunny Summer, 

And the cold was all in vain, 
And the sweat from Winter's forehead 

Fell like drops of April rain. 
Till at length the giant melted 

And his wigwam passed from view, 
And around flowed pleasant rivers, 

And the green, lush grasses grew. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 48 



"JETTIE'S WOOD" 

This is the wood .she loved to seek, 
And this the sound she loved to hear, 

Who oft came hither, pale and weak. 
In her last lingering year. 

Too careless seemed the laugh of rills 
That yonder in the vale are found ; 

She only gained among the hills 
A solace in this sound. 

In this low sound of pine and fir, 
That as she listened seemed to be 

From out a calmer world to her, 
As seems it now to me. 

It-seems to tell my spirit all 

Her spirit gained in its release — 

The rest where His wood-whispers fall, 
Among His palms of peace. 

This is a spiritual wood to me ; 

I love to come and tarry here, 
Where her most restful look I see, 

As in her last, last year. 



DESERTED HOUSE REVISITED 

A YEAR ago, I tarried here, 
Beside this lonely door, 

And in a day as quiet looked 
Yon sunlit valley o'er. 



44 IN MANY MOODS 



Now comes, as then, the sound of pines 

Upon the balmy air, 
And now, as then, the wood-thrush pours 

Its cool note, here and there. 

All Nature is the same as then ; 

But not the same am I; 
I miss to-day a voice I heard. 

And for that voice I sigh. 

I mark to-day how grown with moss 

The pathway to this door. 
Upon whose solemn threshold lies 

A shadow evermore. 

Let me begone, and let me seek 

The merry and the gay ! 
This loneliness reminds of loss ; 

This mossiness, decay. 



WHAT SUNG THE THRESHOLD BROOK 

How shattered every pane ! 

How mossy every sill ! 
And yet I glide the home beside, 

Because I love it still. 
Methought they loved it, too. 

Who are the last of kin : 
They pass no more its threshold o'er. 

Or sit its green yard in. _ 

The careless truant lad 
Assails its latchless door ; 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 45 

The maiden robs the only bush 

That blooms its gateway o'er ; 
But still about it rise 

The olden chestnut-trees, 
And calm at morn and eve I hear 

Their leafy melodies. 

Ah ! though they come not now, 

Who are the last of kin, 
To pass once more its threshold o'er. 

Or sit its green yard in, 
Methinks they will return 

AMien life shall be no more. 
To sing as 1 in twilight bj^ 

The home they knew of yore. 



THE GARRET 



I CHERISH all the tender ties 
That serve to make a home secure ; 

And can not well, of kindred eyes, 
The absence for a day endure ; 

And welcome all who come to be 

The sharers of my hearth with me. 

And yet I hold this garret dear. 
Where oft I sit, apart from all ; 

Where, in the pause of winds, I hear 
The breathing stillness round me fall, 

Or buzzing of some busy bee 

Constructing here his masonry. 



46 IN MANY MOODS 



Than I who come to build a rhyme, 
He is more thrifty, some may say ; 

But am I prodfgal of time 
Who earn my bread from day to day? 

Who leave no duty to be here, 

Where find I rest for eye and ear ? 

Not only do I see this rude. 

Brown garret with its rafters bare ; 
Here visions come of hill and wood. 

Of whatsoever renders fair, 
Beneath a wide expanse of sky. 
The face of Nature to my eye. 

Ah ! even here I seem to be. 
When visions such as these unfold, 

On some lone hill-top whence I see. 
In varied views of wood and wold, 

Fair scenes that can not fail to be 

Its charm, its chief amenity. 



AT THE "WAYSIDE INN," SUDBURY 

This is the wayside inn our poet sung ; 
But who are these, so loud and rude of tongue. 
Who pass to-day its ancient threshold o'er? — 
The story-tellers, they have gone before ! 

The inn remains ; but though come days of rain, 
Those pleasant folk, they will not come again ! 
Too much is absent ; there is little here 
To win the eye, or to delight the ear. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 47 

Where is the bush, so welcome to the sight, 
Of him who, weary, sought this rest at night? 
Where is the coach? where is the jovial horn? — 
'Tis vain to ask, to long for what is gone. 

I would that I had been content to be 

A comer here in unreality ! 

The inn I 've known, the goodly folk I 've met, 

They are no more, and I their loss regret. 

June 11, 1887. 



48 IN MANY MOODS 



APRIL RAIN 

The rain, it raineth ev'ry day.— Old Song. 

The rain, it raineth ev'ry day, 

But never mind ! — all children say 
That April showers bring forth May flowers. 

That good old proverb ne'er forget ! 
The time will come for pleasant hours 

In greenwood and in meadow, yet. 

The rain, it raineth ev'ry day. 

But never mind ! — God hath His way. 
To Him alone the need is known. 

What we in tender years were taught. 
Let us remember, older grown, — 

He blesses when we know it not. 

The rain, it raineth ev'ry day, 

But never mind ! — 't will soon be May, 
And May will soon give way to June, 

When underneath the sunny sky, 
The brooks will sing a pleasant tune. 

And fair fields laugh before our eye. 



MAY 

O'ER-SUNG is May, and silence as the year 
Becomes melodious, for the sake of art, 
Were laudable. But whatso fills my heart 

And is unto me beautiful and dear, 

I can not choose butting of. For no ear 
I ask to-day, — unseeking to impart 
My rapture to another. Birds that dart 

About my eaves will sing though no one hear.. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 49 



I sing with them involuntary lays, 
I sing with them, unknowing how I sing, 

Or if there be a music in my voice ; — 
I look on Nature in these violet days, 

I feel the hope which unto her they bring, 
And seeing her, I can not but rejoice. 



SOON AS THE SUMMER SUN 

Soon as the summer sun 

liOoks o'er its wall of haze. 
And hot as are the desert sands 

Lie all the city ways, — 
I long to feel again 

The mossy cool that Alls 
The deep and leafy vale where falls 

The wild brook of the hills ; 

To hear the pasture-bell 

That tinkles unaware, 
The murmured sound of upland pines 

Come mellowed down the air ; 
And, peaceful as the hour 

When slanting splendors fall, 
To hear the sunset-bird from out 

His secret minaret call. 

Yet, even while I long, 

I feel less ill at ease : 
I lose mj'self among the hills 

In pleasant reveries ; 



50 IN MANY MOODS 



And all these city ways 

Seem full of cool and calm, 

And in this air of heat and haze 
There seems the breath of balm. 



THE COMING OF THE EAIN 

The sky is low as it would fall, 

And to the south the vane ; 
The robins in the orchard call. 

Impatient for the rain ; 
I hear them through my windows wide, 
And feel myself to them allied. 

I see the fowls their feathers trim. 

And hear my farmer say 
(And have not been more pleased with him),, 

" It augurs rain to-day." 
Say what we will, old saws we heed 
That promise what we wish or need. 

The day is dark, the air is soft. 

The rain must soon be here ; 
And hill and wood, and field and croft, 

Seem conscious it is near ; 
And to the grass, it seems to me, 
The wind has told the change to be. 

It is the wind that blows the bait 

Into the fi^sh's mouth. 
That comes so welcome though so late,. 

All tepid with the south. 
Hark! what is that that warns my ear? 
It comes ! it comes ! the rain is here ! 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 51 

Is here, by lightest patter kuowu — 

A green and quiet rain. 
Now let us thank it ! let us own 

Ourselves, for days of pain, 
More thankful that at last it comes, 
Like one long wished for to our homes ! 



ENJOYED THE MORE 

I MURMUR not that most my days 
Are passed among these noisy ways ; 
That seldom by my ears are heard 
The laugh of rill and song of bird ; 
Or by my eyes are seldom seen 
The wood-caught rays of morn and e'en. 

Nor envy him his lot who sees 
About him reach the path of ease. — 
Whose morning care is whether he 
Shall busy or shall idle be. 
Shall seek the vale, or climb the hill. 
Or loiter beside the rill. 

For when thou, who hast held me fast. 
Stern Duty I giv'st consent at last, 
And forth I go to wood and field. 
They more for my long waiting yield. 
By him whose days are all his own, 
The joy / feel is never known. 



52 IN MANY MOODS 



THE LESSON OF THE BROOK 

Why is thy song so sad to-day, 
Sweet singer of this sylvan way? 
Pray, is it not enough for me 
To sighing be? 

" The song I sing is hardly mine, — 
Thou changest it, as thou shalt find. 
It is as if I were a pine 

And thou the wind. 

" My song is as thy spirit, gay; 
My song is as thy spirit, low ; 
If thou wouldst have it glad to-day, 
Thou must be so." 

Dear Brook ! thy answer is, in sooth, 
Remindful of a simple truth, — 
That oft the cause of change around 
Within is found. 



THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEASIDE 

TO H. N. S. 

You go to seek the summer sea. 
And I to seek the mountains. 

For you the wash of waves ; for me 
The play and plash of fountains. 

For you the long and sandy beach. 
The sail at distance slanted ; 

For me the hills that calmly reach, 
And valleys shadow-haunted. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 53 



I find no charm the sea beside; 

A pain is in its sameness, 
When underneath an azure wide 

Its vastness has a tanaeness. 

There may be liere and there a bluff 
To break the sliiniug levels; 

But one or two are not enough : 
The eye on nothing revels. 

Give me the strong and rugged lines 
Of summits rising starkly, 

And maples in green belts, and pines 
About them growing darkly ! 

I know the rise and set of sun 
Will change the face of Ocean, 

And now and then o'er it will run 
The hint of new emotion ; 

But oh ! it seems a mask to me 
To that which ever changes, 

Which twice alike we may not see, — 
The face of .>rountain-Ranges. 

The eye is pleased where it has yet 

Some beauty to discover : 
It is not by the features set 

That e'er is won the lover; 

But by the changing light of thought 
That o'er them he is seeing, — 

A charm which of themselves is not, 
But has a separate being. 

For you the dull, monotonous sound 
Of waves forever swinging ; 



54 IN aiANY MOODS 



For me, from many a wood around, 
The thrush's sweetest singing ; 

The tinkle of some winding bell 
That comes within the bearing, 

It may be from some boslsy dell 
Or from some grassy clearing. 

Oh ! you may seek the summer sea, 
But I will seek the mountains. 

The glare for you, the shade for me 
Beside the mossy fountains. 



THE SPIRIT, IF NOT THE MEANING 

It finds its way through wildest woods, 
This highland brook of mine ; 

By glimpses sees a lonely crag 
And rugged mountain line. 

It sings, — but I can never catch 

The meaning of its song: 
The subtile sense of rock or pine 

Does not to me belong ; 

ISTor that of any wind that comes 

Or mist that hovers near. 
Of sun or moon — how dull to it 

Must seem my human ear ! 

And yet I sometimes feel that I, 

When I have listened long, 
Have caught in moods of deeper jo.y 

The spirit of its song. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AXD OTHER POEMS 55 



AUTUMN 

Her skies are soft, her fields are fair, 
In calm repose her waters lie ; 

But Autumn gives the sunny air 
The burden of a sigh. 

^Vliat unto her can be her crown, 
Her gorgeous crown of golden leaves? 

For, lo ! her eyes they are cast down, 
And pensively she grieves. 

Gay birches o'er her patli may lean. 
She better likes the sombre fir; 

She has her courtiers, like a queen, 
But they are naught to her. 



MY BEAKER AT THE RILL 

A MEMORY. 

The summer days ai-e gone, 

The mountains far away; 
Yet once again, when makes the morn 

The far horizon gay, 
I wander from my tent 

Adown the airy hill. 
To fill, where boughs are o'er it bent. 

My beaker at the rill. 

As yet no mountaineer 

Has lit his morning fire ; 
As yet the tinkling bell I hear 

Is at the waking byre. 



56 IN MANY MOODS 

Sweet to the herd will be 
The dews upon the hill ; 

But oh ! no sweeter than to me 
My beaker at the rill. 

All sights are beautiful, 

The far-off and the near, 
And all the sounds are musical 

That fall upon my ear. 
How fresh the leafy wood I 

How fresh the grassy hill ! 
And oh ! how has my life renewed 

My beaker at the rill I 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 57 



MOSSES 

FuOM ledges of the lonely hills 
To caverns of the sea, — 

What tokens of the love of God 
Ilis tender 4uosses be! 

For deep below as high above 
His love extendeth He. 

How marvelously delicate! 

How wonderfully fair ! 
As lies their beauty over strength 

In ocean and in air, 
So over all the might of God 

His love lies, everywhere. 



THE PRESENCE 

The Sabbath-bell that rose so near 

In echo falls away ; 
Say ye I lose His presence here 

Among the fields to-day? 

Not only in the holy aisles 
Of worship is He found ; 

The light of the shechinah smiles 
On all the earth around. 

There is no path to Him : His face 

Is in the sky above ; 
His touch is in the air ; His voice 

Is in the ear of love. 



58 IN MANY MOODS 



His presence is around us all 

Wherever we may be ; 
His temple has nor roof nor wall, 

Nor mete nor bound has He. 



WOKSHIP WITH NATURE 

How restful is the Sabbath 

That lieth on the hills ! 
How touching are the sermons 

Whose preachers are the rills ! 
Where every wood a fane is, 

And every rock a shrine, 
And every wind a psalmist 

That singeth in the pine. 

No words have I to utter 

What in my heart is known : 
I let the lips of Nature 

Give language to my own ; 
And so the lowly psalmist 

That singeth in the pine, 
In all it singeth, uttereth 

The spirit which is mine. 

Oh, sweet it is to worship 

Where from us, one by one 
Fade all our vague misgivings 

As mists before the sun ! 
Where we in clearer vision, 

Around us and above, 
Behold His hand of goodness. 

His answering face of love ! 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 59 



A DAY OF QUIET 
" Great peace have they that love Thy law." 

O DAY of quiet ! I would be 

As quiet as thou art ! 
To whom the face of God I see 

Its light of love impart. 
But it is vain to wish that I 

Thy spirit might possess — 
Thou art of God ; the earth and sky 

He fills with quietness. 

So said I on the mountain-side, 

From all of man away, 
When sheening in the sunshine wide 

The lake below me lay ; 
When though I listened there was heard, 

Upon the windless air, 
Nor sound of leaf nor song of bird, 

But hush was everywhere. 

Then came a voice, a voice so low 

The soul alone could hear, — 
" Thou art of God thyself, and know 

Thou hast but to revere 
The knowledge of His law thou hast. 

The word within obey, 
And He will give thy soul the vast, 

Deep quiet of this day.*' 

O answer to my longing made ! — 

I bade all passions cease : 
The winds that vexed my soul were laid^ 

Its waters given peace I 



60 liSf MANY MOODS 



Not vainly had I wished that I 

The spirit might possess 
Of that fair day, when earth and sky 

Were filled with quietness. 



DEUS IDEM 

TO A. B. H. 



Through fields with early summer fair, 
Through woods of pine and birch, 

We came, with quickened love of God, 
To pleasant Norton church. 

The gospel of the daisied fields 

And sunlit depths above, 
Had left the anxious heart its hope. 

The weak assured of love. 

And what a prelude had been ours 

In sound of leaf and bird 
To singing of the good old hymns 

And reading of the Word ! 

The church without, the church within, 
In both the same He seemed ! 

In both the same sweet face of love 
And mercy on us beamed ! 

For he who read the Book had passed 

No page of nature o'er ; 
By each in turn the other taught 

His gentle spirit more. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHKU POEMS 61 

Foi" howsoe'er he chid our ill, 

Or shaped our needful prayer, 
His teaching was in unison 

With that of earth and air. 

So, as we sought the fields again, 

The joy of birds was ours. 
How sweetly fell their psalms among 

The sunbeams and the flowers ! 



WILD FLOWERS OF THE HOLY LAND 

TO H. B. G. 

SACRED flowers from hill and plain 1 
What visions come to me 

That I may look on Olivet 
And over Galilee ! 

1 rest me where the holy palms 
Their solemn shadows lay ; 

I feel what airs of sun and song 
Fall on His human way. 

No better gift hath Palestine 

Than you, O flowers fair ! 
Endeared to Him whose tender eyes 

Looked on your beauty rare. 

The pathos of His life is yours ; 

You move us, as if we 
Did in you all His smiles of love 

And tears of pity see. 



62 IN MANY MOODS 

No fragment from the rock-built wall, 
ISTor from the temple dim, 

Could like you in our bosom wake 
The fervent thought of Him. 

You tell of Him as nothing else 

Of Holy Laud can tell ; 
The beauty in the Gospel found 

Is in your page as well. 



THE SOUL'S HOUSE 

A BETTER house we build to-day : 
A better let us build within ! 

Too long of better light and air 
The soul has needful been. 

And better than the outward house, 
Let evermore the inward be. ! 

The fault we may conceal from men, 
God can not fail to see. 

Let its o'errunning vines be love ; 

Its light be hope ; its quiet, peace ; 
And all its garden trees be faith. 

To which He gives increase. 

And let it be secure and high. 
And all its windows wide command, 

In its eternal summer fair, 
A prospect of His land. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 63 

DEDICATION OF CHILDREN 
(Read by Rev. Geo. W. Uicknell, Lowell, CluUlren's Sunday, 1889.) 

We can not call thee Energy, 

Nor Law, nor Force, alone ; 
Thy love, forever full, we see. 

Thy tender care we own. 

Thou never art from us away. 

But with us Thou dost dwell, 
A Spirit, in the night and day. 

Thy name, Iramanuel. 

Thou wnlkest in our daily ways 

And dost our threshold seek ; 
We touch Thee in our darkened days 

And are no longer weak. 

The conscious source of all our joys. 

Of all our gifts of good. 
We see Thine eye, we hear Thy voice, 

We own Thy fatherhood. 

And lo I before Thine altar here, 
That Thou our trust may'st see, 

We come to give the young and dear, 
Our little ones, to Thee. 

We know that Thou wilt take them all 
And bless them with Thy hand, 

And, howsoe'er they swerve or fall, 
Their need wilt understand. 

May they Thy love of right discern, 
And they Thy hate of wrong, 



64 IN MANY MOODS 



And never from Thee may they turn, 
But walk with Thee along ! 

Like flowers may their souls expand 
Beneath Thy sun of love, 

And yielding to Thy training hand 
Become Thy home above ! 



CAMP 0S81PEE, AND OTHER POEMS 65 



THE EXHORTATION OF PETER THE HERMIT 

In Jerupalera, the holy, 

I have seen the infidel ; 
On the pavement, trod by Jesus, 

Like a curse his shadow fell. 
At the Holy Mausoleum, 

Gifts of prayer I longed to lay, 
But the menace of the Moslem 

Bade me rise and move away. 

I have heard the loud muezzin 

Call the Mussulman to prayer; 
But of Jesus, not Mohammed, 

Breathed to me the sunset air. 
All about the Holy City, 

Falling on my inward ear, 
The Beatitudes of Zion 

Filled the solemn atmosphere. 

Shall the people who deny Him. 

Only unmolested be 
In the latest human footsteps 

Of the Christ of Calvary? 
Watch the walls around the city. 

Which is ours through faith and love? 
Spread the pinions of their power 

All its holy shrines above? 

Shall we suffer it to be so ? 

Shall we bow before the gate 
Of the Holy Mausoleum, 

Mocked and menaced by their hate ? 



66 IN MANY MOODS 

Would to God I were a legion 
Wheresoever in the land, 

Still between the shrine and pilgrim 
Falls the shadow of their hand ! 

Has the warrior no spirit? 

Has the man no manhood now? 
Lies the coldness of indiflference 

On a single hooded brow? 
Has the Christian no religion? 

Has his heart no wound to-day? 
Has he lost the sense of duty? 

Cast his crucifix away ? 

Let the maiden leave her spindle ! 

Let the shepherd leave his pipe ! 
Let the toiler in the vineyard 

Leave his fruit, though it be ripe ! 
Let the Scotchman leave his herding ! 

The Norwegian his lines 1 
Let the Welshman leave his hunting, 

And the idle Dane his wines I * 

Let all Christendom awaken 

Wheresoe'er it lies at ease ! 
Let the storms within all bosoms 

Be like tempests in the trees ! 
Let our banded indignation. 

And our valor be a might, 
'To relieve the Holy City, 

And assert our sacred right! 



*The reader is referred to William of Malmesbury. 



CAMP OSSIPBE, AND OTHER POEMS 67 



That the mother may no longer 

In the midst of sad alarms, 
Seek the tomb of Him who carried 

Little children in His arms ; 
That the pilgrim in the city, 

As beside his hearth may be 
Unmolested in his worship — 

It is Heaven's own decree ! 



68 IN MANY MOODS 



"KOBIN" 

Januakt 25, 1759 

" 'T was then a blast o' Jan war win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin." 

It was na sic an air as blaws 
In simmer f rae the hills an' haughs ; 
A blast o' Janwar wind it was 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

I wonder Nature deemed it weel 
That he, wha was to lo'e her leal, 
Should first her caulder season feel, 
Sae wi' it welcomed Robin. 

But Nature is past flndin' out ; 
We seldom ken what she's about ; 
That she rejoiced, I dinna doubt. 
When first she keek't on Robin. 

He gied to her the love she sought ; 
She led his feet ayont the cot. 
An' muckle guid to him she taught ; 
She shawed her best to Robin. 

For him her burnies sweetest sang, 
Her wild-wood echoes lightest rang ; 
She fostered him her joys amang — 
We know them best through Robin. 



CAMP OS8IPKE, AND OTHER POEMS 69 



IZAAK WALTON 

"Nay, the earth hath no fruitfuhiess without showers or 
dews." "Turn out of the way a little, towards youder high 
honeysuckle hedge . . . whilst this shower falls so gently 
upon the teeming earth." 

How doth the page of Walton, 

Bead in these latter days, 
Seem like a rain that round us 

The dust of summer lays, — 
A balmy rain that freshens 

And sweetens all our ways ! 

What honeysuckle hedges, 

What meadows, flower-fair, 
With newly born aroma 

Seem filling all the air ! 
What affluence of verdure 

The city seems to wear ! 

Thanks for his life of quiet 
In greenwood and in field ! — 

Not only as an angler 
Is he to us revealed. 

But as a thoughtful teacher 
Of what repose may yield. 

How needful is the lesson. 

Though it be heeded not. 
Which he, who had a mission, 

As in the morning taught, — 
That there is lack of wisdom 

Where gold alone is sought! 



70 IN MANY MOODS 



Come ye who by ambition 
Are over-tasked and tire, — 

Come ye who, blest with shelter, 
With raiment, food, and fire, 

Are ever discontented. 
Or restless with desire, — 

Come, seek the fields with Walton 
Who bids all fever cease ! 

As " brothers of the angle," 
And "followers of peace," 

Observe how patient Nature, 
And how her fruits increase ! 



"GOD BLESS HIM" 

Why add a needless tribute? — yet, 

As man and poet, one is he. 
Life, which is fact, its seal has set 

On all his voiced humanity. 
He too might say, if self-thought led. 
What Milton to Salmasius said ; 
But leaves to God, who all has heard and seen. 
What concord lies his life and spoken word between. 

He lifts a prayer without a claim. 
Seeks not his God from man apart, — 

His lips are burdened with our name. 
Our common need is in his heart. 



CAMP OSSrPEK, AND OTHER POEMS 71 

He loves to serve, as best he can, 
The lioly work which Christ began, 
To call the poor benighted from his way. 
So vague with shadows, up the sunlit hills of day. 

But not alone our human weal 

Or human woe is in his song : 
There Beauty finds a master leal 
And airy Fancy moves along, 
AVhilc Wordsworth's vestal fire by turns 
Has all the native warmth of Burns. 
The simplest flower that smiles in greenwood ways, 
The simplest brook that sings, is mirrored in his lays. 

Clear voice among our lakes and hills 1 

He sings of nature as of men : 
He hears with us its airs and rills. 

He sees what lies within our ken ; 
Interpreting, 'neath moon and sun, 
Its bosom unto every one. 
We feel the calm where rise our northern pines. 
We see the mountain morn and sunset, in his lines. 

And oh, how like a sunlit day 

Of whitest winter, warm and mild. 
Blown through by all the airs that May 

Breathes over greening slope and wild, 
His old age round about him lies ! — 
So seems it to the pilgrim's eyes. 
" God bless him I " is the best that love can say : 
And God be thanked that this is uttered in his day. 



IN MANY MOODS 



MY POET FEIEND 

To-morrow, may the sky be verj^ fair! 

And all the winds be gentle ! for beyond 

The turmoil of the city and the dust 

That fills its ways, I go to seek my friend 

Whose home is rural, set with open fields 

And bits of v/ood and meadow, and repose. 

I know he is a lover of a day 

Whose influence is gentle — God be thanked ! — 

A harvester of all the varied good 

Sown by the hand of Quiet. On his way, 

How^ oft he tarries, thoughtful of the sound 

That with the wind comes from some leafy maze, 

Or finding in a common woodland tuft 

A beauty seldom seen so well before. 

A gatherer of simples, he has all 

The gentleness of woman — and this makes 

A man not less a man, but unto all 

His rugged strength a tender beauty gives. 

Ah, few are they who go to seek so soon 

The flower of the wind ! to whom it is 

So dear a harbinger ! He loiters 

Beside his woodland beck, in quiet muse, 

And lets its spirit to his bosom come 

And live through all his being. He is not 

A man to see the beck is but a beck 

And might be made to turn the sawyer's mill ; 

But something worthy to be loved and sought 

With feelings of thanksgiving for its peace 

And beauty which is useful in itself. 

Some one may say, " Oh, put the man to work ! 

He is an idler, living on the land. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 73 

A reaper who is never seen to sow." 

Do not mistake him I There are many ways 

In which to help us onward. Unto him, 

As you might also, much of good I owe, 

For he has made my love of nature more, 

And nature is the open book of God. 

He is not silent, but interprets it, 

And many minds have come to it through him. 

And so, I would that you who read these lines, 

If you delight in nature, might beyond 

The turmoil of the city and the dust 

That fills its ways, go with me to my friend 

Whose home is rural, set with open fields 

And bits of wood and meadow, and repose. 



A MEMORIAL 



He was a man I could but love, 
A seeker of the pure and good, 

Who held, all other lives above, 
The life of righteous habitude, 

Suggesting by his quiet ways 

The Quaker of the olden days. 
Ah, with what love was he endued. 

Whose heart so much for all could feel, 

Who would not wound, but sought to heal ! 

I never knew what creed was his, 
Save that he did believe, — as one 

Who feels what he believes, and is 
Sustained thereby, as in the sun 

So in the shadow, — that the love 



74 IN MANY MOODS 

Of God rests all His works above, 

That nothing will by Him be done 
But shall reveal that He is good, 
Eternal in His fatherhood. 

He was a singer, one who took 

In outward nature pleasure I'are, 
To whom, where lightly trilled the brook, 

Or pine-wood whispered to the air, 
Came deepest inspiration, such 
As did his inmost beiug touch. 
He was not lonely anywhere. 
Who felt, in all his walks abroad. 
The presence of a loving God. 

He loved to come and tarry here. 

Beside these rills to few men known ; 
He gave to them what makes them dear, — 

" A music sweeter than their own " : 
They sing to-day his songs who sung 
So artlessly their ways among — 

His simple songs that breathed alone 
A spirit which, at peace with all, 
Let everywhere its blessing fall. 

He has not Avholly passed away, 

But something of himself is left 
That can not suffer change, and nay. 

Whereof I can not be bereft ; 
Ay, something of his love which ne'er 
Less real is than this clasping air. 

Weave on, my life ! but in thy weft, 
No fairer threads will ever be 
Than these of his dear memory. 



CAMP OSSIPEE, AND OTHER POEMS 75 



MY BUSY BEES 

My babies are my busy bees, 
A suiiiniei" loug aftbrding ; 

Within luy heart, theii- chosen hive. 
For me their honey hoarding. 

They roam the clover-fields of life, 
Amid its sweetn^s winging; 

Their honey is the sun-born love 
They evermore are bringing. 

May I, with lapse of time, the hive 
Which the}' so rich are making. 

So keep that it will ever be 
Too good for their forsaking. 



SUMMER MORNING 

Rise, my love I come forth and hear 
How the birds are singing near ! 
You will find, in glad surprise. 
Home itself a paradise. 
Come ! if pleasure you would take : 
What a change an hour will make ! 

Freshest breezes round me blow. 
Soon will come the noonday glow ; 
Soon of dews that on it lie 
Every pleasant green be dry ; 
All this freshness, all this bloom. 
Unto dust and heat give room. 

Come mj' love ! and let a draught 
Of this morning air be quaftied, 



76 IN MANY MOODS 



Of this nectar free to all, 
Ere the beaker melted fall ! — 
Cast all drowsihead away ! 
Moments bring the fires of day. 

Else, my love ! and as the morn, 
Put your gayest garments on I 
Wake and rise ! ajid come with me, 
That all things may fairer be I 
Come ! for if you do but this, 
Nothing lovely will I miss. 



TO A FRIEND 



We would lead thee from the shadow, 

If we knew the way ; 
We would help thee bear the burden 

On thee cast to-day ; — 
For thee in this hour of sorrow 

We can only pray. 

There are times when lips are silent, 

For they can not speak ; 
Times when hands that would be helpfuL 

Are too poor and weak ; 
Times, alas I when tearful only 

We the sad can seek. 

But if all our prayers be answered. 

Thou wilt solaced be ; 
All the shadows from thy pathway 

Thou wilt vanished see ; 
And the morning, like an angel. 

Will return to thee. 



CAMP OSSIPEK, AND OTHER POEMS 77 



ON RECEIVING SOME CARDINAL FLOWERS 

O Cardinals I O Cardinals ! 

I know the wood wherein ye grew — 
A brooky wood, with shadows dim — 
And that it is by toil of him — 

My friend — that I have you. 

Ye Avere not on the roadside gained, 
With little effort : from his way 

He turned, who bore you to my hand : 

His heart I better understand 
Who look on you, to-day. 

He did not tell me of his toil ; 

He only said he gathered you 
Where, looking from a well-known road, 
A mile or so from his abode, 

I had beheld j'our hue, 

Who marvelled then that aught so bright 
Should live in shadows damp and dim; 
But oh ! more bright than you, has grown, 
In all the shadows round me thrown. 
My every thought of him 1 



IN MANY MOODS 



LINES 

IN BEHALF OF THE AUDUBON SOCIETY 

Since woman — though she be not all unmoved — 

Rewards the act we mourn ; 
Since words to her have mostly futile proved, — 

Ah ! whither shall we turn? 

She was our hope ; we said her voice would rise 

Pathetic of the wrong, 
That she would answer like the wind that sighs 

Our saddened woods along. 

O birds chance-spared ! pour forth your sweetest lay 

Wherever man doth live, 
And let all feel, who have not felt, to-day 

The blessing you can give I 

Sing over mart, sing over home, and sing 

Where some in sickness lie. 
And to the pent and task-bound, songs that bring 

The freedom of the sky ! 

Tell every heart what fades from hill and dell 

Sad as the setting sun ; 
And give us strength, that we may better tell 

The evil that is done I 









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